Ever since I can remember, I have kept a journal. I might write in it everyday religiously for weeks, or I won't even touch the thing for months; I can never seem to find a good in between. Sitting down and writing out how I feel never really seems to be a priority, until it is.
Having a graphic designer as a mother, my sisters and I were always encouraged to be as creative as possible, no matter the medium. We grew up in a time where playing outside was the standard; where your tools/toys were whatever you could find around you, and the more unique your games were, the cooler sister you became.
One could say we were a bit competitive among one another...
But we needed documentation of the worlds we created, remember the rules to our games, and finish the storylines of the ones we weren't finished telling yet. We all had a journal, whether it was an old composition book left over from school, or a brand spanking new Harry Potter journal from Barnes & Noble. Yes, I had 3 of them. We were continuously encouraged to keep writing, keep sketching, keep exploring the inner workings of our brains.
Now as "adults", we have found alternative ways to access the inner workings of our brains and journaling soon became a hassle and a chore. All the time it took to sit down and actually write or sketch out what was going on in my head...um, I'm a millennial, I need instant gratification! Growing out of phases and hobbies is such a natural progression of growing up and I felt okay dealing with things my own "grown up" way. But it has been in some of the darkest and most challenging moments of my life that I find myself turning my bedroom upside down until I feel the cool crisp pages beneath my finger tips. The sensation of turning to a fresh new page brought over a sense of peace and calmness within me. Until I realized I was still at a loss for words.
So I turned to the only other person I know could truly help me, Mother Nature.
Re-reading your own writing is like revisiting a dream, the details are foggy but you can remember the gist of what happened. However it wasn't until I found pressed pages throughout my journal of flowers, leaves, feathers, that these hazy memories came flooding back to me more clear than ever. I was transported to the very moment and feeling I experienced when choosing my totem.
I don't always remember to find a totem, sometimes they find me and place themselves in my path. And sometimes I am meant to share it with someone else, place it in a book or a jounral for the next wandering soul to find. But the next time you find yourself at a loss for words and need nothing else but to express yourself, go take a walk and see what comes onto your path.
